


Of Hospitals and Health

by ReminiscentRevelry



Series: Of Fullmetal and Feelings [3]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Gen, Hospitals, Parental Roy Mustang, Post-Promised Day, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Restored Alphonse Elric, Touch-Starved, platonic hugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:26:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23210011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReminiscentRevelry/pseuds/ReminiscentRevelry
Summary: Al is still recovering after the Promised Day, so Colonel Mustang pays him a visit.
Relationships: Alphonse Elric & Roy Mustang
Series: Of Fullmetal and Feelings [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1645903
Comments: 23
Kudos: 329





	Of Hospitals and Health

It was a slight disappointment to Al that he had to go through so much rehabilitation after regaining his body, but he couldn’t argue the necessity of it. His muscles had atrophied to the point that he could barely move without them screaming in soreness and the regaining of his other senses was a lot to handle. The hospital was full of recovering soldiers who were all glad to talk to him, though, and the room he and Ed were in was close enough to Colonel Mustang’s that Hawkeye would drop by regularly to update them on Havoc’s and Mustang’s recovery.

Ed wasn’t too pleased that he was saddled with physical therapy for his right arm, but Izumi had threatened to kick his ass if he didn’t cooperate, so he complied. It at least let him stay in the same room as Al, though he was at the Command Center at the moment, leaving Al alone to his thoughts.

Sights and sounds were easy enough on him, but the smell of hospital ether had turned his stomach, making him vomit acid and bile. He didn’t have anything in his stomach to throw up, which made it worse. The smells were overwhelming, especially when he first came back through the portal - blood and gunpowder and metal, he could practically taste the dust and it was strange. 

Colonel Mustang had offered his coat to Ed before Al woke up. It smelled like shampoo and a hint of cologne, and Al wondered why Ed never mentioned that the Colonel wore cologne. It was a nice smell, not overpowering and alcohol-esque like the perfumes old women would wear - clean and somewhat spicy. The coat itself was a nice smooth fabric and a decent weight that Al found he liked, almost like it was hugging him. He’d kept it draped over his shoulders over his hospital scrubs, lacking the energy to pull his arms through the sleeves.

He should probably offer the coat back to Mustang at some point, now that he thought about it. He’d rarely seen him without a coat.

“Mind if I come in?”

Al turned to the door, where Mustang was standing.

“Colonel?” he said. “Oh, yeah, come in. Brother’s at the Command Center, if you’re looking for him.”

Mustang shook his head, sitting on Ed’s empty bed. “No, I wanted to check in on you. How are you feeling?”

Al tilted his head, surprised. He liked Mustang well enough, he’d always talked to Al like he was on equal footing as him and Ed, but he’d always assumed it was out of courtesy rather than interest. It was how he felt whenever someone from the military talked to him. However kind they were to him, he couldn’t help but feel like they were being nice because they didn’t want Ed to get mad at them for excluding him. The feeling had gone away somewhat when he was with the Briggs soldiers, but it lingered around the Eastern and Central soldiers.

“It’s slow but I’m making progress,” he said. “They’re letting me have liquid intake instead of just IV fluids, but I won’t be on solid foods for another month or so.”

“Any progress is good,” Mustang said. He winced and rubbed at his eyes. “How are you adjusting to having all your senses again?”

Al blinked. “How’d you know that was a problem?” he asked.

Mustang smiled at him, opening one eye. “I was blind for three weeks and now I have light sensitivity,” he said. “I have to keep kicking everyone out to shut off all the lights because of the headaches. You kept sight and sound in the armor, but your other senses are out of practice.”

Al looked at his hands, hyper-aware of how frail they were. He’d touch something and it would permeate his skin until he touched something else, and he had to keep trying things until something felt right. So far, petting Hayate, braiding Ed’s hair, and holding the coat felt right. Having his hair brushed felt nice and hugs felt nice. Teacher had been quick to hug him when he got his body back and it was familiar and warm. Everything else felt wrong. Wool blankets were scratchy and the give of the mattress was unsettling when it shifted under him. The ground was harsh against his feet and the tile floors were unsettlingly smooth.

“It’s all so much,” Al said. “It’s not just taste and smell and touch - it’s hot and cold, and my balance is off, too, and telling where I am. Ling had a name for it, pro- proprie - proprio -”

“Proprioception,” Mustang supplied. “The awareness of your body in relation to itself.”

“That!” Al said. “I don’t have very good motor control anymore, either. I’ve been getting better by braiding Brother’s hair, but it’s weird being so… so weak and - and clumsy.”

Mustang gave him a kind smile, shifting to cross his legs and lean forward. “It’ll take time to get used to everything again,” he said gently. “I know you had a list of things you were looking forward to eat again, but you’ll have to start small and work your way to richer foods. They have you on broths and water, right?”

Al nodded. “It’s not the tastiest, but Teacher got one of her employees to send up some of their meat stock to make it better. She and Sig own a butcher shop,” he explained at Mustang’s confused look. 

“That explains a lot, actually,” he mumbled. He’d seen Izumi threaten Ed with a scalpel and throw it at him, but when Ed ducked, her husband caught it between two fingers. The nurses had been too scared to say anything but Knox had no qualms about arguing with her over patient etiquette. 

Al chuckled, wincing a moment later. “Even my vocal chords hurt,” he said, rubbing at his throat. “I didn’t realize how much I’d have to relearn when we were journeying.”

“You have a lot less to worry about now, though,” Mustang said. “You can focus on relearning and recovering. They have you working with a physical therapist to rebuild your muscles, right?”

Al nodded. “They’re starting small but they’ve been talking about using a pool for my therapy. Something about the buoyancy of the water taking the strain off of my muscles while working them.”

“Havoc is doing something similar,” Mustang said. “They’re guessing it’ll be a few months before he can walk without a cane but he’s able to do short distances.”

“It’s just taking so long,” he said quietly. “Even as hard as I’m trying, it feels like I’m not making any progress and it’s not just physical, either.”

“What do you mean?” Mustang asked. 

“I guess - I guess I hadn’t thought about it because my soul was in the armor, but my brain was in the Gate. There - there are memories that I don’t really feel are _mine,_ but they are, and it’s weird trying to sort through them. It was four years of sitting in front of the Gate, waiting, and the memory is just this endless white expanse. Sometimes - sometimes it feels like I’m back in the Gate, just - just staring. Waiting.”

Al looked at his hands, at the long nails and the knobbly joints and pale skin. He blinked and the blue blanket was replaced by white, white everywhere except for his hands in front of him and his golden hair hanging over his shoulder. He blinked and his hands were hovering over the blue blanket, shaking from the strain on his muscles.

However much he’d been sleeping, it didn’t feel restful when all he dreamt of was the white void or Truth and hopeless despair, surrounded by all the people he couldn’t help shouting for him. Here, sitting on a bed safe while so many hadn’t been so lucky, he felt far older than fifteen.

He glanced at Mustang, who was watching him thoughtfully.

“I know your brother is getting all the papers in order to retire,” he said, “but the military can cover therapy for both of you.”

“I’d get it for Brother, since he was - is - a State Alchemist,” Al said, “but I’m not - I’m not _military -_ I’m a civilian.”

“But you were involved in the coup,” Mustang said, holding up a finger, “and Grumman is letting Ed declare himself emancipated and list you as his dependent, so his medical care will cover you as well.”

Al blinked. “Ed never told me that,” he said. He deflated slightly and frowned. “What else hasn’t he told me?” he murmured, mostly to himself.

His hair fell over his shoulder and brushed against his cheek, making him jump. He scowled and batted at it weakly, making a strangled sound when his fingers got caught in a tangle.

“May I?” Mustang asked, shifting to sit behind Al. He took the comb from the side table and pulled Al’s hair behind him once he nodded, combing the tangles out of the bottom and working his way up as he spoke.

“I can’t say what your brother has kept from you,” Mustang said, “partly because he’s also kept it from me. His focus from the start has been getting you back to normal and the military facilitated that, but it may have delayed your research with some of the missions. Edward retiring means he doesn’t have any obligation to the military - no more missions, no more false leads, nothing to keep him from focusing on you.”

“What do we do next?” Al asked. “Now that we aren’t doing things for the military. What do - what do we focus on, what do we do?”

“ _You,_ Alphonse Elric, focus on recovering,” Mustang said, tugging Al’s hair gently. “You have months of rehab to look forward to, and therapy once Knox and I find someone.”

“But Human Transmutation-”

“Knox knows the value of discretion,” Mustang said, “as do I, and you and Edward _both_ need therapy.”

“We managed just fine before,” Al muttered.

“Al,” Mustang said gently, running the comb through his tangle-free hair, “I’m not claiming to be an expert on mental health, but both of you have habits and responses I’ve seen in soldiers with PTSD - that I’ve seen in myself and Hawkeye. And with all you’ve been through, it’s expected. There’s no shame in needing help.”

Al glared at him over his shoulder, only drooping when Mustang met his gaze evenly and he could see nothing but firm, kind concern in his eyes.

“We’re not used to asking for help,” Al murmured.

Mustang snorted. “I know,” he said. “I’ve known you for four years, Alphonse. You and Edward are always trying to be self-reliant, which is admirable, but unnecessary. There are people who are eager to help you if you’d let them.” He set the comb down and started separating Al’s hair into sections at the top of his head. Al leaned into the touch, humming slightly. 

Ed had mentioned to Mustang that Al was touch-starved. He’d had a fond smile when he told Hawkeye that Al had been _cuddly,_ tucking himself under Ed’s arm to nap while he read his papers. He hadn’t seen Al when he first came back - he’d been blind - but Hawkeye had whispered to him what was going on, how Al had clung to Ed, had leaned into every bit of contact the chimeras and Armstrong were offering him. 

“Is this all right?” Mustang asked. 

“It won’t tangle as easily if it’s braided,” Al said. “I was thinking about cutting it. Long hair is more Brother’s thing, I always kept mine shorter. I didn’t - I didn’t know you knew how to do hair, though.”

Mustang smiled softly. “I had a lot of foster sisters growing up,” he said. “They taught me how to style hair and makeup, among other things. It’s useful, at times.”

“Is it useful now?” Al asked. He twisted slightly, trying to see Mustang.

Mustang tied off the braid and held out a hand for Al to see the bandages wrapped around it. “Bradley stabbed through both of my hands,” he said. “Technically, I shouldn’t have even been able to snap my fingers after he did, but adrenaline dulled the pain. Now that everything is calmer, the physical therapist is having me do small exercises to regain fine motor control.”

Al blinked, brushing his fingers against Mustang’s bandages until he found the spot where the sword had gone through the back of his hand - where he still had scarred remnants of his transmutation circle from the fight with Lust. “He would have torn through the muscles,” he murmured, “and nicked the bones of your ring and middle fingers. You made it worse by snapping in the fight?”

Mustang blinked when Al turned to look at him - he’d forgotten, somehow, that Al was just as smart as his brother. He nodded, looking at his hand. “It’ll take a few months before I can even think about holding a pen,” he said. “For now, rolling one of those sand balls across my palm and braiding Hawkeye’s hair is the most I can do. Even holding things is difficult.”

“Because you agitated the torn muscles,” Al said, taking Mustang’s hand with both of his. He flattened Mustang’s palm and stretched out his fingers, running pale, shaky fingers over his joints. “They started to heal wrong?”

“It’s frightening how quickly you and Ed figure things out,” he whispered, wincing slightly when Al pushed on the knuckle of his pointer finger. “But yes, it did. Hawkeye almost had my head when she heard from the nurses.”

“I guess your paperwork will have to wait a while for your signature,” Al said sagely.

Mustang blinked - and snorted out a laugh, reaching up to ruffle Al’s hair with his free hand. “I guess it will,” he said. “Though I suppose I could alchemize a rubber stamp to look like my signature, it would cut down on a lot of time.”

Al chuckled but it died in his throat after a second as he thought of something. “You saw the Truth,” he said. “What did - what did it look like to you?”

Mustang tilted his head slightly as he thought about it. “It was definitely a white void,” he said. “The figure in front of the Gate, I take it that was the thing you and Ed call Truth?”

Al nodded.

“It didn’t say anything to me,” he said. “It just - smiled - and opened the Gate. There was a giant grey eye and those black hands and - nothing. I couldn’t see after that.”

Al looked pensive, still running the pads of his fingers along Mustang’s bandages. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

“Don’t you dare blame yourself for the actions of the Homunculi, Alphonse Elric,” he said sternly. He waved a hand toward his face with a crooked grin. “It’s not like it was permanent, anyhow.”

Al shook his head, focusing on the bandages under his fingers as he tried to find his words. The woven edges of gauze caught on the ridges that made up his fingerprints and he could hear the cotton against his nails. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it wasn’t the best sensation. 

“Maybe it’s not sorry,” he said. “It’s more - I keep having nightmares about the Truth, and the thing we transmuted, and Nina. I’m not sure what I - it’s not _sorry_ but -”

“Al,” Mustang said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry about my nightmares. Believe me when I say the Truth is by no means the worst thing I’ve faced.”

“After the Homunculi, I’d be surprised if it was,” Al said, surprisingly frank and blunt. 

Al had rarely been one to mince words, in all the time Mustang had known him. He was honest with everyone, though whether he delivered it gently or frankly varied for whoever he was speaking to. He’d typically let Ed speak to Mustang, but had always seemed to regard him with a manner of respect that Ed forewent in favor of swearing and yelling. 

Now, though, hearing the blunt honesty coming out of a frail teenager instead of an emotionless suit of armor was a distinct shift from what he was used to. It wasn’t unwelcome, but it was odd, especially since Al couldn’t hide his reactions. His face betrayed his emotions, however quiet he got as he thought. Where in the armor he would tap a finger or a foot to indicate he was thinking, here he was just running his fingers along the bandage, silent with his eyebrows knit tight together.

Mustang, gently, squeezed Al’s shoulder to get his attention. Al blinked and looked at him, eyes bright and wide.

“Sorry,” he said. “I was just - thinking. It’s not sorry. It’s - it’s thanks. For watching out for us.”

Mustang blinked, surprised. Al’s honesty and sincerity was reflected in his eyes, deep golden depths that held him frozen in place. Of all the things he’d expected the Elrics to say, he never expected them to thank him for dragging them into the military, for sending them across the country on missions in between research and leads.

“You deserve better,” Mustang murmured, “than me or the military. You and your brother.”

Al shook his head. “If someone else had been Brother’s commanding officer, I doubt we would have been allowed to travel as much as we did - the senior staff probably would have hidden us away until the Promised Day.”

“Your brother did threaten the Fuhrer during his exam,” Mustang mumbled, pulling his hand away to rub at his eyes. “That alone would have been reason enough.”

“However twisted it was, I guess it was lucky the Homunculi underestimated us as ‘simple humans’,” Al said. “They never thought we could turn their plans on their head like we did.”

Al turned away from Mustang, looking at his hands. “Brother won’t say it, but we are grateful, Colonel.”

Mustang smiled at him, soft and kind. “You’re always welcome to visit,” he said. 

Al smiled and shifted awkwardly, opening his arms slightly before pulling them in again. Mustang snorted and pulled him into a hug, one hand on Al’s head. Al sank into the contact, frail arms around Mustang’s middle. Hunched over, he was able to hide his face in Mustang’s chest.

Cologne, clean with light spice. 

“Oh, you probably want your coat back,” Al mumbled.

Mustang waved a hand, not that Al could see it. “Keep it,” he said, resting his cheek against the top of Al’s head. “I’ve got others. And it suits you. Just don’t start dressing like your brother.”

Al laughed dryly. He was getting drowsy - he’d been awake for a while and that alone was tiring, but Mustang was warm and steady and Al liked hugs. He liked warm. He liked feeling safe.

“Get some rest,” Mustang said, pulling away when Al started to breathe more evenly. “I’ll see you around, Al.”

“See you,” Al mumbled. He waved at him as he left and curled up under the coat. For the first time in weeks, he didn’t dream.

**Author's Note:**

> This one took so much longer to write than I expected. I always want content of Roy and Al together but they're not as easy to write as Ed and Roy. I did it, though!  
> I always thought Al would keep some habits from being in the armor and doing an idle motion to indicate that he's still listening is one that I do sometimes. But I also thought that he'd have hella sensory overload from regaining all his senses at once. Putting that with the idea that Roy would have some consequences from regaining his sight (light sensitivity, in this case) gave me a good starting point.  
> Also, the idea that Roy and Al are both somewhat eaten up by their guilt is one I've held for years.  
> Tell me what you think!


End file.
